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Name

It’s not a rift that a button can conquer
It’s not a matter of fashion or posture
My body is a starched linen
My face a wide-brimmed hat
My hands, two monkeys stirring

This island is eroding
Tame next to the sea’s wiles.
The boulder no longer commands
My exits nor presumes to waylay guests
I am not the same surplus
The same angel, the same grail
Immortal, nirvanic
Content to equip my enemy
With both ammunition and gauze.

When I die please do not consider me
A victim, know that, I went fighting,
Know that, the cave grimaced in sunlight
And that I took those yellow tendrils
Into myself as one takes a mirror
Willing, if inadequately equipped,
To embrace a truth superseding ego.

I can no longer justify my trips to purgatory
The poverty that follows each extraction
Some days I leave my face unmade.
And set out to conquer the extraordinary
I was given but one heart
And none but she can pronounce my name.

I’ve been reading this one and thinking on it and reading again – and each time, I find myself immersed in deeper in images conjured and metaphors that morph and I’m on a path that is both deadly yet delightfully light. It seems to me, whether this was intended or not, that there is this exquisite balance of edge and grace here –
I am not the same surplus
The same angel, the same grail
Immortal, nirvanic
Content to equip my enemy
With both ammunition and gauze.

LOL — when something has touched me in some way – whether I have understood it or not – then it sits within me – until it has finished simmering – and sometimes – there aren’t easy answers – and I “know” when I’m “done” with a piece; but even then, often, I have to revisit – because like any truly “great” piece of writing – whether it be poetry or prose or an academic thesis – something that resonates will always hold an attraction – much like a song or melody, or painting etc. 🙂